


Tiger Therapy

by MissAnonWrites



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Shapeshifting, shapeshifter Tom, tiger tom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 10:23:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3764617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissAnonWrites/pseuds/MissAnonWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>OC has a hard time expressing anger. Her therapist has referred her to see an anger specialist, who has an unorthodox way of treating people. </p>
<p>Oh, and he’s a shape shifter who turns into a tiger.</p>
<p>Looong 'short story' that you’ll need a cup of tea for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tiger Therapy

“Milk?”

He frowns over the rim of his cup, and after taking a significant gulp, sets the cup down on the coffee table in front of us. He licks a little white line from his top lip with his smooth, pink tongue.

“Yes, I drink milk. Like many other humans do. I don’t  _just_  reserve it for when I’m a tiger.”

I look away briefly.

“Do you want some?”

“No. Thank you,” I reply almost thoughtlessly, my mind preoccupied with thoughts of the man next to me. 

________________________________

Dan, my counsellor, had referred me to Tom, to help me tap into my ‘inner rage’. Apparently I had some, however it was not coming out at all in our sessions. And, as Tom had told me pointedly soon after I first met with him, “Dan couldn’t piss anyone off if he tried.”

So who was Tom? And how the hell could he help?

__________________________________

It was a bright and breezy spring London morning when I first bounced my way up the steps to Tom’s front door, clutching the scrap of paper Dan had given me with Tom’s address on it. I trusted Dan, ergo I trusted whoever this Tom fellow would be, and when he greeted me at the door with a wide smile and brilliant blue eyes I knew I’d be in safe hands.

Safe, rather attractive hands.

After taking my jacket, he led me to his living room, gesturing for me to sit in a large leather easy chair, that was next to a matching leather sofa.

After making us both some tea, he joined me in the living room, setting the tea down on his coffee table, and folded his lean frame down to sit on the sofa. He let his long legs sprawl a little, so that his knee was almost touching mine.

After a moment, he leant forward, rubbing his palms together slowly, a look of concentration on his face.

“Okay,” he began, looking tentatively towards me. “Dan told me that you need some help expressing your anger. Is that right?”

I quirk an eyebrow. “That’s what he tells me. But I’m a pretty easy going person. I don’t get angry easily.”

Tom looks down briefly for a moment, then back to me. “I’m sure that is the case. However, um, anger is a perfectly natural emotion, and all of us need to be able to express it from time to time.”

I sigh. How many times have I heard Dan tell me that. 

I get it intellectually, but deep inside, I just can’t relate to that. I don’t let getting angry. I don’t like being angry at others, or situations…

“…Especially after what you have been through.” Tom clears his throat, and looks away. “As you know, Dan told me the very basic details, and I know enough to know that you  _should_  be feeling pretty pissed off right now. If you’re not, then there is something wrong with you.”

A spark of defensiveness jolts through me. I bristle, but then regain my composure and senses. “There is nothing wrong with me. Different people react to difficult things in their own way. For me, I just want to let what happened go. Getting angry isn’t going to change what happened.”

“And I am sure you have given this very reasoned explanation to Dan before,” Tom narrows his eyes at me and holds my gaze until I feel a little unnerved and look away, tugging at the bottom of my shirt hem gently.

Tom sits back on the sofa with a long sigh, and clasps his hands behind his head.

“And let me guess, you believe that you’re ‘above’ feeling rage, or that ‘forgiveness is the only path’ because of some pseudo-spiritual quotes you’ve seen doing the rounds in your Facebook feed?”

I almost get up to slap him, but instead stay where I am, shocked at his perceptiveness. He’s touched a nerve.

“So I like positive quotes and read some self-help books sometimes. That doesn’t make me… stupid.”

“I never said it did,” his voice is gentle, concerned eyes watching me as he leans forward a little. “I’m angry that there are people out there propagating this idea that anger is a ‘bad’ thing, to be thwarted, controlled, battened down. Or caged, like a tiger.” He props his elbows on his knees, and rests his head in his hands. “And you can’t jump to forgiveness without meeting anger first.”

Something in the way he speaks reassures me that he speaks from experience and true knowing. I don’t think he’s rolling out some kind of psycho-babble. 

I sigh and nod to myself. 

“Have some tea, before it gets tepid,” he smiles softly, and gestures towards the polka-dot mug in front of me.

________________________________________

“Tell me what pisses you off.”

He sits expectantly next to me, pen and notepad in hand.

“Umm… I … I don’t know, err…”

“Could be anything. Start small. People who cut you up while driving. A neighbour playing loud music at 2am. Computer crashes. Come on.”

Christ. Okay… “I get commuter rage. I get pedestrian rage. I hate people who non-stop talk loudly on their phones on long bus journeys. Sales men. Lying politicians. Liars, actually, in general.”

“So if I told you that my name was really Gregory and I’d been lying to you all along you’d be mad at me?”

I think for a minute. “I don’t know if I’d say mad. More like surprised. Then I wouldn’t trust you so much.”

“Trust…” he starts scribbling in his notepad, then stops, and chews the end of his pen thoughtfully.

“Betrayal makes you angry.”

I squint. “No, it makes me sad.”

“No, you’re just saying that to mask the fact it  _does_  make you angry. Who betrayed you?”

I sigh. “You know who… Dan would have told you.”

He starts writing as he talks. “And this ‘you know who’ was a person you trusted. Someone you opened up to. Someone you believed you were safe to share your vulnerability with. And they betrayed that trust heinously. And all you feel is ‘sad’?”

I squirm in my seat. “Disappointed, then.”

Tom scowls, then tosses the pad and pen on the floor beside him.

He speaks quickly, although I feel he’s trying to be patient with me, as if speaking to a small child.“If someone, say I, came to you and openly shared some very vulnerable things about myself with you, which you then used to hurt me with, would you say that I have a right to be angry about that abuse of trust?”

“I .. yes I guess so.”

“And so if you shared something personal with me, and I were to use that information to hurt you, would you then not have a right to be angry?”

“I see your point, but the fact is, I just don’t feel angr…”

He suddenly gets up and stalks towards a small cabinet by the living room door, where his mobile phone sits atop a small stack of books. He picks it up.

“And so if I were to call your mother right now and divulge some very personal details about you, you would not feel angry?”

I cock my head at him. Bullshitter.

“You don’t have her number, and the worst you could do is tell her I’m getting therapy.” I chew on the inside of my cheek. I don’t have many secrets, but I don’t want my mother to know about my sessions with Dan. She’s one of the many topics I come to Dan to talk about.

“I have her number listed here, as your emergency contact.” Tom takes a folded up piece of paper out of his jeans back pocket, opens it, and waves it at me. It’s a copy of the contract I signed with Dan when I first started seeing him.

I’m gonna kill Dan when I see him.

“Oh - six - five -two…” Tom begins reading my mum’s number aloud, theatrically dialing on his phone. I race over to him, and slap the phone out of his hand. It lands with a clatter on the hard wood floor.

“How dare you!” I yell, and suddenly tears begin to prick my eyes. I feel sad and betrayed. A familiar feeling.

“Hey…,” Tom says softly, and goes to put his arms around me. I shove his chest, turn on my heel and head out the living room door to get my bag and jacket.

“I would never, ever do anything to betray you.” Tom calls out firmly to me.

“Then what the fuck were you doing just then?” I fumble with my jacket, just wanting to get away from him.

“Trying to tap into your righteous anger.”

I just shake my head. He’s full of bullshit. 

I head towards his front door, glancing over at the latch. I hear his footsteps behind me.

“If you go now, you’re running from your anger, not from me. I can promise you that.”

I scrunch my eyes shut briefly. Bastard’s probably right, but my instinct is to go home, be alone and lick my wounds.

“What do you usually do when someone betrays you?” He calls out behind me.

“Run. Get away from them as fast as I can. I don’t want to be around liars, betrayers, people who can hurt me.”

I hear him sigh softly. “What if you tried a different tactic this time? Just to see?”

I notice that I’m starting to feel calmer and less flighty. He’s distracting me.

“What tactic would that be?”

“To get mad. At me.”

I frown. 

“You have every right to. So, get mad at me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” I turn to face him, feeling a little tired out.

He stands tall before me, arms folded, eyes very sincere. 

“I hurt you. It’s only fair.”

I dump my bag on the hallway floor with a loud thud. 

“Take it out on me,” he takes a step closer, and lets his arms drop to his sides. “You shoved me earlier. Do it again.”

“Look, Tom I get what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to get the anger out of me but I’m just feeling tired right now so…,” 

He chuckles darkly. “Chicken.”

“You have got to be kidding me…”

“Any excuse not to stand up for yourself. Just let people hurt you over and over while you retreat back to your little cave…” he smirks with contempt.

“Fuck you…,” I mutter, and bend down to pick up my bag.

“Such fowl language. I should call your mother on my landline and tell her she raised a weakling with a gutter for a mouth…”

“Shut up!” Tears start burning again in my eyes and my heart begins to pound in my chest. I’m half way between running away, and attacking him.

Almost shouting, he continues. “Then I’ll tell Dan that you are completely unsalvagable and that he should terminate working with you.”

“You…. you…,” I had no words, all I could sense were my fists clenching and unclenching. 

In three long strides he picked up the landline telephone receiver out of its holder on the hallway wall, and with a fierce frown started dialling. “I’m not playing games, this time,” he snarled, then I heard the sound of the dial tone. He had it on speaker phone. My mother answered.

“Ah yes, I have something to tell you about your daughter.” His voice sounded crisp, sharp, professional. Uncaring. “For the past six months she has been..,”

With a cry I rush over to him, yank the phone out of his hand and drop it to the floor, stomping on it hard with the heel of my boot. Tom looms over me, laughing. A roar somehow comes out of me, and I shove him hard against the hallway wall. “Don’t you dare EVER think about pulling a stunt like that again,” I shout in his face, my hand pushing into his sternum to hold him in place.

We’re both panting, and in the silence the rage suddenly disappears out of me.

I pull back, stunned.

Tom sniffs, and runs his hands through his hair, before squatting down to pick up pieces of his broken phone. 

“How do you feel?” he asks quietly.

I honestly don’t know.

He stands, bits of phone in his large hands. “I’ll get you some water.”

I frown, and sink down to sit on the hallway floor. I feel tired out, mostly. Empty. My head light.

Tom pads back out of the kitchen and sits cross-legged in front of me, offering me a glass of water. He looks concerned.

“You didn’t run away, then.”

I half-smile, and take a sip of water.

“I would say I’m sorry for making you mad, but, um, it’s what I’m here to do.”

I take a deep breath. “I was so scared you’d actually do it.” I think back to when my mum was on speaker phone. Ugh, I’ll have to call her shortly to offer up some kind of explanation…

“I’d never hurt you. Wind you up, yes, but not actually cause damage. If you hadn’t interrupted me when you did, I was going to tell her that you’d been attending baking classes for six months.”

I smirk to myself. “That’s … random.”

“Hmm,” he takes a sip of water. “I didn’t think I’d have to push you that far to provoke you. Normally a bit of mild intimidation does the trick. When I was saying those dreadfully mean things to you I thought you would erupt.”

I look down. 

“But hey,” he continues in a soft voice, “I think we let the lid off something today so that’s a very good start. Maybe next time it will take less to get you enraged.”

Next time…

_____________________________________

“You brought me biscuits. How kind. Now be a dear and sort them out for me in the kitchen. A cup of tea would be nice too. Thanks.” 

Tom leaves me speechless in the hallway, and plonks himself down on the sofa in the living room. Stunned, I unthinkingly go to the kitchen and start clattering about trying to find a couple of small plates when it hits me that I should say something back to him.

I walk to the living room doorway and frown down at him, as he sits languidly on his sofa, king of the castle.

“I’m not your housekeeper.”

He raises a hand to his ear. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

I sigh and shift on my feet. “I said I’m not your housekeeper. I’m your guest. I think maybe you should at least help me with the tea…”

His hands form fists on his thighs and after a deep breath he stands up. “Could you be a little less polite?”

“umm…,”

“Talk back to me! Come on, tell me I’m rude.”

“I can’t  _now_ , because you’re asking me to!”

He scowls and stomps past me into the kitchen. He starts banging cupboard doors really loudly, and throws a stray teaspoon into the sink with a noisy clatter.

“Is that really necessary?” I mutter.

“No. I’m just doing it to piss you off,” he says over his shoulder. “What else could I do? Hmmm, let’s see…,”

He takes me roughly by the hand and brings me into the living room. He plops down onto the sofa, taking me with him so I am sitting next to him, then spreads his bent legs wide, bouncing the leg nearest to me up and down so his knee rubs against the side of my thigh. He reaches his arms up and over so they fall across the top of the sofa, the stereotypical territorial male.

I find myself squished up on the end of the sofa, trying to avoid his arm behind me and that bouncing knee.

“Manspreading,” he says simply.

I turn my head to look at him, and he leans his head back on the top of the sofa, closing his eyes. 

“Imagine if I sat next to you on the tube. Bet you’d love it.”

_Fuck you_  I silently say in my head, and roll my eyes at him.

“Women love having their space invaded, don’t they? And even if they don’t, they don’t deserve as much space as men. They can fold themselves up into small corners, while we can take up as much space as we want. Everyone knows that.”

“Everyone?” I scowl, and start to move off the sofa.

“Uh-uh,” his eyes blink open and he catches my forearm in his hand, stilling me. “You only get up when I say.”

“What?!”

“And that’s when I want some food, so just stay here. There’s a good girl.”

“For fuck’s sake,” I begin, angrily starting to get up. He releases my arm, and just before I’m about to launch into a rant, I look down to see his smug face. Smug, because he knows he’s hit a nerve. That cocky bastard. 

I let out a garbled sound of frustration. 

“I don’t know whether to be angry at you because of all that sexist BS, or because you’re such a cocky smart bastard knowing exactly how to press my buttons.”

He widens his manspread even further to nudge at my leg with his knee. 

“You shouldn’t be so suggestible. I like toying with you. It’s fun to play with your feelings.”

Something about his words cuts me deep, and I’m back on that precipice of feeling both hurt and angry.

“I don’t play with others feelings, so it shouldn’t be done to me.”

“But it has been done to you, hasn’t it,” he sits up, resting his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers under his chin. “Because no one gives a shit about your feelings.”

My heart lurches in pain. Yet I’m stuck rooted to the ground.

He narrows his eyes, regarding me for a moment, before continuing. “How much shit will you let me throw your way before you do something? Or are you just going to keep taking it like a good girl?”

Something about the way he says ‘good girl’ makes me snap, and without thinking I grab the pitcher of water from the coffee table behind me and pour the water over his head. I storm towards the living room doorway and punch the door frame, shouting loudly in both pain and anger. Then the tears start.

Warmth radiates from behind me, and a long, shirted arm winds its way around my side to take my red, sore hand in his. 

“Let’s get some ice on this.”

______________________________________

I’m sitting on a stool in his kitchen as he wraps a bandage around my knuckles. After the anger had subsided, the throbbing had started, and after putting ice on my hand there was just a dull ache.

Tom had tended to me silently, his features soft yet concerned, a completely different man to the one who had been winding me up earlier. It was messing with my mind. Surely I should still feel angry? But then, he’s doing all this to help me? And he looks after me after I’ve gotten angry? I don’t know how to feel.

“Do you want to talk?” He half-whispers, kneeling back on the kitchen floor before me.

I shake my head. I can’t articulate my feelings right now. I’m just tired.

“Um, with patients it’s natural for them to feel a certain measure of hate towards me as part of the process, so, if you do feel animosity towards me, or an inclination to not be around me, then do let me know. It’s important that I know how you feel, to track your progress.”

I slump on the stool. “I don’t know. I know that what you’re doing is doing something, it’s working somehow, something’s changing. But yes, I feel sometimes like I can’t stand you and that you’re… cruel. But then right now I feel like I trust you. And that confuses me.”

He nods. “That is to be expected. I am glad that you… sometimes… feel that you can’t stand me.”

I frown, trying to process this.

“Because it means you are having a very healthy, natural reaction to some unwarranted, bad behaviour.” He gives me a small smile. “Progress.”

_______________________________________

Our sessions continued in this way. He would provoke me in multiple ways, sometimes subtly and sometimes plainly. Unwelcome behaviour, insults, threats, he had them all at his disposal. And instead of becoming immune to them, I found that I was standing up to him more frequently. 

There were still occasional moments where I felt overwhelmed, when he pushed me to the brink simply to make me snap, where I’d need some support to calm down afterwards, and be reminded that this was part of a healing process. 

It was not easy work.

During our sixth session I hit a bit of a block.

“I’m tired.” I sank back into the sofa. 

“I’m sure you are. It’s emotionally draining.” Tom pulled his notepad out of his trouser pocket and started jotting notes. “Do you want to give up? It’s normal, you know, to want to bail at some point during the process.”

I let my eyes rest on the coffee table in front of us. “No, it’s not like that. I think we’re doing well.”

“You’ve come far,” he nods with a smile. “We’ve found the assertive part of you.”

“It’s just…,” how could I say this clearly…

Tom glances at me from his notepad, pen poised, ready to take notes.

“You don’t need to write this down.”

“Oh, right..,” he closes the pad and sits back, waiting.

 “So… I know that you do all these things to provoke me as part of the healing process. You’re doing this to get me in touch with my feelings of anger, have them expressed and witnessed, and not have me be scared of my own feelings, right?”

He nods.

“So it’s an act on your part.”

He nods again.

“But when I get angry, I’m genuinely getting angry with you. And I’ve done some stuff that’s… not nice. I’ve shoved you, I’ve thrown things at you…,”

“You’ve never hurt me…”

“But that’s not the point. I’ve taken out my anger on you, and that’s not right.”

“You express your rightful anger towards someone who knowingly provokes you. That’s as it should be.”

“But you’re not a bastard really.”

He laughs faintly. 

“I mean, in the heat of the moment I hate you, but I know I don’t really hate you at all. Not  _you_ , just the act.”

He looks down at his lap for a moment. “Hold on. Are you worried that you hurt my feelings?”

Before I have a chance to respond he continues.

“I have an idea.”

_________________________________________

“You’re finding it difficult to separate the maddening me from the true me, aren’t you?”

We’re out in his secluded, small back garden. Trees line the perimeter, and he stands before me, hands in his pockets.

I look down at the ground. “I think so.”

“Even though intellectually you know that the maddening me is simply an act to help you release your anger, you’re finding it hard to have clarity around how you feel towards me.”

I don’t know what to say. Have these sessions with him actually been making things even more confusing, rather than helpful or healing?

“It’s simple, really. All I have to do is take on a different form after I’ve angered you, to create a clear distinction for you between my ‘act’ and the true me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about….” I shake my head, and look up at him. 

“You don’t really need to know, actually. Simply trust me. Um, you might want to sit down.” He gestures towards a folded up deck chair propped up against the side of his house.

Once seated, he stands nearby, arms folded. 

“It’s a method I’ve used a couple of times with select clients, with great effect. However it is rather unconventional, and I would need you to sign a non-disclosure form.”

“Huh?”

“How do you feel about animals?”

“Animals…?”

“Do you like them? I think you’re a vegetarian, is that correct? So I’m guessing there must be some affinity for them, or at least, respect?”

“Yeah… yes I guess…”

“So perhaps introducing an animal into our therapy process could be, um, not wholly untoward for you, yes?”

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. I wasn’t expecting this. “Sure, why not. What are you thinking, a dog or cat or something?”

“Um, no, a bit of a larger animal, but um, completely harmless, and quite cuddly. Previous patients loved interacting with him.”

“What, like a bear?” I say with a laugh.

“Heavens no, not a bear. I won’t spoil the surprise, but if you’re up for it, all you have to do is sign a form and then we can crack on. Sound good?”

_______________________________________

“I’m going to annoy you, really quite badly, to the point where you’ll be very angry with me.” He peers at me with an unwavering look.

“Got it.”

“At that moment, when you start to feel your anger turn to sadness or pain, I want you to go into the kitchen. That’s all. That’s all you need to remember.”

____________________________________________

It started gently, oddly. He started a conversation with me about the hobbies I did as a child, the kind of books and comics I read back then, what made me happy and what was important to me. Once he’d lured me into a comfortable friendly chat, he switched on the Bad Tom act, and started shredding all of these to pieces.

“All children had to learn how to play an instrument. You talk as if you were special, but you were no better than the others. In fact, you didn’t even get past Grade 2, so you couldn’t have enjoyed it that much.”

“But I really enjoyed playing the guitar! Just because I wasn’t Jimi Hendrix doesn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy it or like it or…,”

“Lies. You’re just saying that because you didn’t have the skill to progress further.”

“You don’t know that!”

“And you were oh so happy about telling me how much you loved Batman films. So uncultured.”

“What?!”

“Not just when you were young, but how you still watch them now. Surely you’re too old to waste your time on that mindless drivel.”

“ _Excuse me?_  I enjoy them and..”

“It’s embarrassing to think that instead of watching art house dramas or documentaries, you think it better to absorb brain-numbing so-called ‘entertainment’ written for thirteen year old boys.”

My jaw drops.

“Oh, and while I’m at it, I can’t stand it when you turn up here wearing converse trainers. You think you look laid-back but you look like an overgrown student. Grow up.”

I stand up from the sofa and stride towards the door. Some part of me is telling me to be the bigger person here, and not rise to his taunts. If he were a bitchy co-worker or stranger at a party, I would simply walk away.

“Very disappointing all round, really,” he lounges back on the sofa, an air of arrogance about him. “I can cheapen everything you love and you’ll simply walk away. How undignified of you. You’re the most unfortunate client I’ve ever had the shame to work with.”

I stand rooted to the spot, hands forming fists. I’m on the precipice.

He stands up, puts his hands in his pockets, and strides over to me.

“I’d dare you to hit me, but I doubt very much that you have it in you.”

I breath raggedly, looking at his face. It’s stern, taunting, condescending. Part of my brain  _knows_  it’s Tom, behind the facade, and it’s that part of my brain that is keeping me from lashing out.

I lower my eyes for a second, and he grabs my wrists with his hands, raising them sharply and pulling them to his chest, guiding my hands to hit him there.

I pull back, trying to break free from his grip, but he holds me firmer, and continues to guide my hands to hit him.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I mumble, walking the line between sadness and anger.

He rolls his eyes. “Pathetic.”

I still, and he lets my hands drop from his grip.

“You don’t want to get better. You’re just a time waster. I don’t know why I even bother with you.”

He walks around me and starts whistling. 

That really pisses me off.

I launch myself at him, and grab his shoulders from behind, spinning him round to face me. 

“Why the hell are you doing this to me?” I yell.

“Because you deserve it, you piece of shit.”

I scream and land a clean punch across his face, from right to left, making him stumble backwards and start to double over. 

“Oh shit I’m so sorry…,” I walk over to him.

He holds his hands over his nose,which appears to be bleeding. “Kitchen. Kitchen!”

“Wha..?”

“Kitchen, go!”

I run to the kitchen and automatically start to look for some kitchen roll. I take a couple of tissues from it and dampen them under the sink tap, to use on Tom’s nose.

As I turn around, I see a large tiger in the doorway.

___________________________________

“TOM”  I yell, but can’t hear anything, and get no reply. What if I’ve knocked him out? 

What if the tiger got to him? 

Shit, the tiger has blood on it’s snout…

And yet the tiger stands on all fours in the kitchen doorway silently regarding me. I don’t sense any aggression.

It blinks a couple of times, and ducks its head while it tries to lick at the blood on its muzzle.

Carefully, I start to walk towards it. It simply raises its head a little to look at me better, but makes no sound. 

I slowly try to edge round it, to get out of the kitchen, to find Tom. 

I manage to slip past and dash into the living room where Tom  _should_  be…

Nothing.

“Tom?” I call out again. “I’m getting scared now.”

I feel something soft at my fingertips and jump with a start to see the tiger nudging its head at my hand, trying to get me to stroke it. 

“What the fuck..,” I mumble to myself, and start to gingerly stroke the tiger’s fur between its ears. It lets out a low contented purr.

“I hope you’re a good kitty,” I whisper, and crouch down to take a better look at it.

The tiger sits on its haunches and regards me amiably with clear blue eyes, which surprises me - I thought tigers had amber eyes?

Then I notice the blood again, the red bright against the white furs, and a shudder goes through me. What if the tiger killed Tom?

The tiger reaches up a paw to swipe at its nose, closing its eyes shut briefly in apparent pain, then drops its paw back to the ground. Blood oozes out of its left nostril.

The blood is from a nosebleed, not from the tiger attacking or eating Tom, it seems.

I walk into the kitchen, hoping the tiger would follow, which it did. I carefully started to clean its fur, and tried to explain to it that I wanted to put some cotton wool up its nose to help stop the bleeding. Of course the animal wouldn’t understand a word I said, but it made me feel better just to talk.

And oddly, it felt like the tiger was listening. It’s ears roved around whenever I spoke, and its eyes constantly trailed my movements. It didn’t flinch or edge away when I approached it with the cotton wool, only pining slightly when I carefully edged the wool up its nostril.

Once I’d finished, I went to the kitchen sink to tidy up. I cast a glance over my shoulder at the tiger, which was now lying on its belly, head on its paws, looking very forlorn. 

But where was Tom?

__________________________________

I checked the garden - he wasn’t there. I unwillingly checked his bedroom, which I had never entered before, but he wasn’t there. Nor in the bathroom. I double checked the living room. 

Are those his shoes next to the sofa?

I knelt down and beyond the shoes was a pile of his clothes, including his boxer shorts. 

Huh?

I felt something smoosh against my back and turned around to see the tiger, its large head bopping and nuzzling against me.

Puzzled by the disappearing Tom, and starting to feel charmed by the animal, I ask it, “Care to explain what’s going on?”

The tiger nuzzles its head into my armpit, and I laugh. “You’re no help.”

It pulls back, then gently takes my sleeve in its mouth and tugs, backing away. I follow its lead, and it steers me into the kitchen.

It nuzzles its head against my thigh as a parting gesture, then stalks out, its long tail flicking behind it.

Well.

I shake my head, trying to get my head around it all, and decide to run some cold water over my hands and face. I dry myself off with a hand towel, take a deep breath, and decide to call Dan. Maybe he can help.

Then Tom walks through the kitchen door, tucking his shirt into his jeans.

“Where the heck did you go?”

“I…,”

“OH!” I notice the cotton wool sticking out of his left nostril. 

“No! No no no no… no this can’t be possible,” I hold onto a nearby worktop and steady myself.

“It… is.”

__________________________________

“Milk?”

He frowns over the rim of his cup, and after taking a significant gulp, sets the cup down on the coffee table in front of us. He licks a little white line from his top lip with his smooth, pink tongue.

“Yes, I drink milk. Like many other humans do. I don’t  _just_  reserve it for when I’m a tiger.”

I look away briefly.

“Do you want some?”

“No. Thank you,” I reply almost thoughtlessly, my mind preoccupied with thoughts of the man next to me.

“I find it quite comforting. I heated it up a little. Are you sure you won’t join me?”

He looks at me with appeasement, and offers me the cup. A gesture asking for understanding and acceptance, I feel.

“Okay,” I take the cup from him, and take a slow sip.

“You, er, you pack quite a punch when you want to.”

I almost blurt out the milk. “Oh I’m so sorry, are you okay? Nothing’s broken, right?”

“Only my heart.”

I stare at him.

“I’m just kidding,” he knocks his knee against mine and winks.

Ugh. Dizzying, maddening man…

“Enough about me. How did you feel?”

“Are we really going to do this now?”

“No better time,” he drags his notepad out. 

I close my eyes and try to remember.

“I felt utterly mad at you. I felt hurt by you, but also like I just wouldn’t stand for it anymore. I felt provoked…”

“You  _were_  provoked,” he interjects.

“…yeah, and then once I hit you I can’t remember what happened next. Oh! You yelled ‘kitchen’, then the next thing I knew there was a tiger.”

“Good, good. And how did the tiger make you feel?” He furiously writes notes.

“Uh, confused? Bewildered. Watched. Huh - peaceful. Oddly peaceful.”

He smiles softly. “Good. Do I make a good companion?”

“What do you mean?”

He swallows, and looks back down at his notes. “The tiger, I meant, did it feel good to have the tiger there after that difficult episode, and after feeling anger?”

I sit back on the sofa. “Yes, it was nice. The tiger was…,” I drift off, thinking about its soft fur, and the way it nudged me. Wanted to be close to me. 

Then I remember it was Tom.

“You could have told me it was you.”

He frowns in puzzlement. “Tigers don’t talk. Besides, I tried to communicate with you.”

“I mean before any of this, before… I don’t know, when we first met, you could have told me you were a shifter.”

“And scared you off…,” he raises an eyebrow. “Plus I needed to know if I could trust you first. Make sure you wouldn’t blab my secret to anyone.”

I nod. I know that outed shifters have a bad time of it. Mostly people give them a wide birth, creating rumours that they aren’t to be trusted, that they can’t control their animal side and could be dangerous. A few treat shifters abominably - caging them and treating them like true animals. It’s no walk in the park. Tom has a right to be wary.

“Thank you for trusting me.”

He places a hand over mine. “I hope it helped.”

_____________________________________________

And so, the tiger came to play at times during our sessions. I’d go head to head with Mean Tom, then swiftly find myself being nuzzled and lavished with affection by a 6 foot 2 tiger.

As time passed, the arguments and incidents became far fewer. We moved from the phase of simply helping me ‘get angry’, towards finding ways to effectively communicate and assert my needs and boundaries. It was less firey, less argumentative, and becoming more like holding adult negotiations. 

Tom was an excellent partner to trial this out with and learn from. I was finding this part of the process fascinating.

And oddly, even though it seemed there was less need to have time with the tiger, the tiger was coming out to play a lot more.

Me and Tom had just finished role-playing how to handle a hypothetical volatile colleague in the workplace, when I had to nip to the loo. When I came back, I found Tom the Tiger rooting around in a basket under the large living room window. Tom’s clothes were strewn rather haphazardly across the floor.

“What are you doing?” I wander over to the tiger and drop to my knees, ruffling my fingers through his thick back fur and watching him snuffle amongst a collection of children’s toys. He pulls back with something in his jaw, and proceeds to drop a tennis ball on the floor before me.

He raises his head, an ear twitches, and he sniffs.

“You want me to play ball with you?”

He lifts a large paw, and swipes at the ball, making it roll across the room. He languidly pads after it, taking it again in his teeth, then trundles over to me and drops it on the floor.

______________________________________

“I had no idea tigers liked playing fetch,” I straighten my jacket and haul my bag over my shoulder.

“Any excuse to interact with you.”

“Really?” I laugh.

Tom folds his arms and takes a step towards me. 

“Look, um, I think you’ve been progressing wonderfully and I’m not sure for how much longer you’ll be needing my services.”

“Oh! Wow, really? I… well I guess we’ve been working together for a while. I just never really… it’s hard to gauge your own progress, you know?”

He smiles warmly. “I’ve been logging everything, and it’s quite reasonable to say that you’re in a very healthy place. You’ve changed dramatically from when I first saw you.”

I almost blush.

“It’s been a real pleasure.”

“Wait, was today our final session?” I’m not sure if I’m ready to stop seeing him.

“Um, no,” he puts his hands on his hips, “but I think perhaps the next one or one after should be enough. Then I’m afraid I don’t think I will be of much use to you.”

“Okay,” I reply a little glumly. “I guess I’ll see you next week, then.”

__________________________________________

That night I couldn’t sleep. 

I couldn’t even begin to imagine not going to sessions with Tom.

As painful as they had sometimes been, we’d gone through a lot together. I hadn’t enjoyed being wound up, but I had felt some relief of having opportunities to express hurt and rage with someone who knew how to handle it.

And then of course there was Tiger Tom… big, soft, cuddly tiger Tom. 

None of this would be easy to move on from.

__________________________________________

There was an elephant in the room during our penultimate session together. Everything went fine, we revised some old exercises and reviewed my progress, everything felt professional and business-like, but the end of our ‘relationship’ was looming. I could feel it in the air.

No tiger Tom this time. Probably a good thing. 

____________________________________________

“I bought you these!”

Crinkles form around his eyes as he smiles. “Oh, you really didn’t need to.”

I hand him a small gift hamper I picked up from Twinings, full of tea blends, and a tube of Slazenger tennis balls. 

“It felt like the right thing to do. I wanted to say thank you.”

He sets them down on the coffee table. “Since we’re no longer therapist and client, I think we are allowed to hug.”

He wanders round to me and wraps me in his arms, giving me a gentle squeeze.

After a moment I pull away. 

“Listen, I‘ve got something on my mind and I really need to get it out.”

He clasps his hands behind his back and rocks on the spot a little. “Go on.”

“I don’t want to  _not_  see you again. Even though I know I don’t  _need_  our sessions anymore, or your services, I… I don’t know what I could see you for, but I don’t want to say goodbye permanently.”

He strokes his chin. “Well, I know that the tiger will miss you dreadfully.” He winks.

I giggle.

“Especially since you’ve bought him these fabulous new balls, he needs someone to play with him.”

“So… maybe I could do some pet-sitting?”

“Hmmm.” Tom turns and walks to the fireplace, where he pulls out his notepad that’s been hiding behind a large candlestick.

“I have my diary here,” he sits down on the sofa, and places the notepad on the coffee table, leaning over it to read it.

“I thought you wrote notes about me in there?” I walk round the coffee table to sit next to him.

“I did.” He skims through a few pages. “March 31st. She has great spacial awareness. Firm believer in equality. Sense of fair play. April 5th. Fearless. Protective tigress instinct. Sense of justice. April 13th…,”

He continues reeling off his observations, and I am stunned. 

“…compassion, good punching technique, affectionate towards animals. There - I bet you didn’t know all that about yourself.”

He slides the notepad across the table towards me. “I want you to have it.”

I pick it up, and let my eyes scan across a few pages of his graceful, looped handwriting. It’s quite mind boggling.

He hums to himself, and fidgets. I look over and he’s wiping his palms across his jean-covered thighs.

“This isn’t entirely ethical.”

I frown. “The notepad, you mean? Maybe you should take it back…”

“No, no,” he smiles briefly, then starts wringing his hands. “What I’m about to suggest… um…, hmmm.”

He frowns, looking down, then takes a breath.

“Over the course of our working together, I have come to admire you very much. I have maintained my professional composure throughout, and kept any non-professional feelings at bay. However, as things have progressed, I have found it increasingly difficult to thwart my feelings towards you. Particularly the tiger in me. He is… quite taken with you.”

I smile.

“Now that we are no longer in a working relationship, I wanted to enquire… if you may consider continuing our relationship in a more personal manner?”

I watch as his long fingers fidget with his cuff links. 

“But I know that, um, it is not an easy thing to agree to as, um, my ‘kind’ are different and…,”

“Yes, let’s do this.”

He looks up, eyes wide, a little stunned.

“You’ve seen me at my worst, and created this… amazing notepad out of it. I’ve played with you as a tiger, and I really, really like that furry guy. So… I think we could make a good team. We’ve already been through a lot together. I think we can handle dating.”

His answering smile is radiant. “I’m so relieved. I didn’t want to say goodbye to you tonight, for good.”

I grin back at him. “How about we try some of this new tea, and then crack open the tennis balls?”

____________________________________________________________

_A few months later…._

We’d moved the last of my boxes into his living room, and both tired and giddy with excitement, he held my hand as we went to the kitchen to make tea.

I cuddled him from behind as we waited for the kettle to boil, letting my nose rest against the soft cotton of his t shirt, breathing him in. His body was still warm from helping me carry a few boxes upstairs.

He turns in my arms and nuzzles his nose against mine, before kissing me softly on the lips. 

“Oooh,” he leans back suddenly. “I think I need to go out in the garden.”

“Really? Now?” 

He chuckles lightly. “I’m getting a bit too excited. Unless you want me to turn into a tiger here and run around the house.”

I laugh. “Okay then, let’s help you burn off some energy…”

He rushes ahead of me and when I catch up, my big tiger is sitting at the french windows, pawing at the glass to be let out.

“Okay honey, hold on one sec..,” I work the key in the lock then push the large window pane open for him to pounce outside. He starts running around the garden in a circle, then leaps a couple of times before rushing towards me. Even though I know it’s Tom, I know I’m safe, I still can’t help but take a step back at the sight of a mighty tiger steamrolling towards me. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the sight.

He comes to a skidding stop, circles back towards a nearby flower bed, and starts ripping out a couple of daffodils, which he carries over to me in his mouth. He drops them at my feet, and before I have time to say thanks, he’s off again - running another victory lap.

________________________________

I was sitting on the patio finishing off my tea when he was finally spent. Tiger Tom prowled over, leaning back on his hind legs for a big stretch and yawn, then walked over to me, dropping his belly to the floor and plopping his big head in my lap.

“All done, are we?” I pet the fur on his cheeks and he closes his eyes, growling quietly. 

I notice brown mud clinging to his paws, it must be in his tummy fur too.

“I have a thought.”

Tom shifts himself on to his side, legs sprawled out beside him, one paw twitching in the sun.

“I don’t think I’ve ever given you a bath.”

__________________________________________

Tiger Tom peers over the edge of the bath at the rising bubbles. Simply for fun, I throw a rubber duckie in there too. 

I test the water, turn the taps off and nod to Tom. “Hop in.”

He raises himself up on his haunches, his front paws on the rim of the bath, then jumps in with a loud splash, sending water over the edge of the bath, onto the floor, and over me.

He starts batting the duck with a large paw, while I ruffle through his fur with a flannel. 

He growls every now and then, happily, and shifts onto his back with his paws up so I can scrub his belly. He closes his eyes then, clearly enjoying himself.

Suddenly the tiger morphs into human Tom, and I’m brushing a loofah across his abs.

“Oh! Woah that was weird,” I exclaim, having never seen him ‘morph’ before. Usually he ‘turned’ in private.

He smiles sheepishly. “When the tiger in me gets very relaxed, or turned on, I tend to turn back into human form.” He eyes me carefully for a moment. “You’re welcome to continue… if you like.”

I roll my eyes and grin, before leaning down to kiss his soft wet lips. He groans, and strong hands press into the backs of my shoulder blades as he pulls me into the water with him. I shriek. My jeans-covered crotch lands against his hard length. He chuckles.

“This is nice,” he looks up at me mischievously, stroking his nose against the side of mine. We kiss again, and he shifts his body under mine, his hips rolling and chest pressing against me. Incoherently I start moaning his name, and he begins tearing my top off, before pulling my bra cup out of the way and suckling on my nipple.

“Shit,” I hiss, and he groans against my skin, his hips still rocking under me. 

My knees bang against the side of the ceramic bath and I pull away from Tom. “Bedroom”.

I shift out of the bath, and Tom springs out after me, his erection bobbing lewdly as he walks me down the hallway. 

I start to fumble with my jean buttons before Tom pushes me down onto the bed, his large frame covering me. Instinctively I reach up to bring a nearby pillow down to support my head, and as I do so he clamps my hands down above my head. He licks my cheek from jaw to temple, then lowers himself to tug my wet jeans and pants down to my knees.

“Hands stay where they are,” he instructs, then bends his head to start lapping at my folds, driving the tip of his tongue deep between them. I try to ope my legs wider but the damn jeans are half pinning my legs together. It’s maddening, yet doesn’t stop Tom as he runs a long probing finger along the outside of my opening. I call out his name.

With his other hand he starts teasing and tweaking my still-exposed nipple, my breast feeling sensitive as the bra cup squashes it up, Toms’ dexterous fingers, his lithe sleek tongue trailing lower lower towards my opening where is finger continues to edge in then out then in is all to much for me. My hips buck, my legs shake and I’m seeing stars.

________________________________________________

“You’re naughty.”

“Am I?” He whispers by my ear, and his arms tighten their grip around my waist.

“A bit.” I snuggle my body up against his, resting my back against his chest. “But it’s one of my favourite things about you.”

“Good,” he kisses my neck softly. The smooch sound seems loud in the otherwise quiet bedroom.

He wriggles behind me, and something smooth, flat and warm rests between my buttocks.

“Naughty?”

I giggle. “Indeed.”

I turn in his arms, and can now feel the soft tip of him bobbing about around the tips of my hairs down there. 

I reach up to cup his face in my hand, and he nuzzles against it, eyes closing. Beautiful man.

His eyes suddenly flash open, full of fire and intent. He rolls over me so that I’m on my back, and leans down, keeping his weight on his elbows. He growls. “Round 2.”


End file.
